It's been raining here in Christchurch. Oh. My. Dawg. Has it what. We even had an attempt at snow. The weather has been utter crap for the last two week. Dreary...but perfect writing weather. This means I haven't even felt vaguely guilty for not getting outside the last few weekends.
Plus my cat is beginning to work out where mum hangs out most in the new place. I just wish she'd hurry up and work out where her favourite cat bed is - on my desk, BESIDE the keyboard - so she doesn't continue using my keyboard as a butt warmer.
I've been putting in some steady work on stories, hitting my weekly word count with breathing room. I'm trying not to push myself too hard because I can sometimes still be a little fragile (PTSD, when will you ever leave me?!), and if I push my mental energy beyond capavity I have little melt downs. Then I'm out of commission for a few days and have to scrape my way back into the routine again. I like it if I can hit my word count before the weekend, so I can reward myself with the weekend off. But I never stop - I'm always thinking, reading shorts, making notes. I'm discovering that a writer's job doesn't stop once the fingers come off the keyboard.
I've been plodding away at another fantasy novella, tentatively called "The Quills of the Cloche Star". The last few days I've put it down because I was brain-wurmed by a couple of great story ideas over the holiday weekend. Amazing what a few days off can do once I caught up with sleep. Of course, this means I have far too many UFOs, and I need to make the push to finish something. ANYTHING.
Promotion wise, it's nifty to have my second pro-sale out there to the world, and I'm looking forward to my Interstellar Fiction piece AND the "Regeneration" antho coming out next month.
|Teh Pickle Furbaby Sez: Less talkin', more feedin' hoomun|